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1,400 words

A Mood for Love

Ruchi came out of the bath, refreshed. A white turkey towel coiled her head turban-fashion. A bigger bath towel hugged her tightly below the armpits. She went across the room to shut the window, leaving behind her progressively fainter watery patterns of arched feet. Almost at once, she was aware of the tang in the air.

She leant over the breast-high windowsill, peering upward beyond the awning. A few straggling clouds floated in the distance, as if uncertain whether to approach or disperse. Their ambiguous nature was reflected in their color too-neither a benign white nor an ominous black-but a sober, somber grey. But it didn’t matter to her, for she could sense the as-yet-unfallen rain.

She saw it in the begonia leaves quivering in anticipation of the raindrops that would rock them with their weight. She felt it in the cool breath that caressed her bare shoulders and smelt it in the mixture of dampness and freshness the wind bore. The panic of eternal longing wrenched her heart so tightly that she had to shut her eyes. Wouldn’t she like something more tangible than the wind on her shoulders? A pair of brown, unseen hands perhaps, the fingers traversing her tingling skin from shoulder-tip to nape to shoulder-tip? And then the warm hands would grip her with a gentle crush, drawing her back so that she had no option but to rest her head against his chest and she would look up and see… what?

He had a thousand faces and he had no face. He had curly, short, wavy, straight long hair; he had timid blue, kind dark brown, coalblack fiery eyes; he had clean-shaven granite cheekbones, his stubble/luxurious beard covered his broad/tapering chin.

Ruchi heaved a sigh that was much, much older than her eighteen years, a sigh carrying the burden of generations of invincible human loneliness. It scared her, and she quickly shut the window and pulled her chemise over her towel-turbaned head. She heard the TV on in the sitting room.

“What are you watching, Prachi?”asked Ruchi. Her sister looked comfortably settled slumped low in the deep chair, her feet resting on the coffee table. The hemline of her maxi brushed the floor.

“QSQT,” she answered, without moving her eyes off the TV screen. “Rahul called,” she added a minute later. “Twice. I said you were in the bath. He will call again.”

Ruchi grunted an acknowledgement, staring at the screen herself. She liked Aamir. She dragged the other chair to the coffee table and settled down, Prachi-like.

“Haven’t seen it for a long time,” she justified.

In return, Prachi gave her a short, puzzled look and turned away. She knows I’m feeling strange. Ruchi felt a sudden skittish urge to play hopscotch. The ache inside her persisted.

“They make a nice pair, don’t they? Aamir and Juhi,” Prachi said, while Ruchi was trying to arrange her chemise that had ridden up her thighs. It’s such a bother sitting ladylike always, she thought, giving up the attempt.

The digital shriek of the cordless phone beckoned them. Prachi took it up and said, “For you.” Ruchi started. Damn it. Why am I feeling so jumpy? She noticed a bemused twist on Prachi’s face. Now Prachi would think she was getting high-strung about Rahul.

Could he be…? Were those his fingers that played on her shoulders?

“Hello, Rahul?”

“Sure it’s me. So how are you? Took a long time for your bath. When did—?”

Prachi was waving her arms at her frantically motioning her towards the door.

“I can’t hear the TV,” she said.

Ruchi opened the door that looked out on the garden and seated herself at the doorstep. The wind had become stronger. It perforated the sheer fabric of her chemise, ran through her body and whipped up the flotsam in her heart. She felt the centripetal force on her chest, imagining it would cave in under the pressure any moment. It hurt, by God, it hurt.

C’mon Rahul, be nice, say something nice. I could love you. I could love anybody now. What was he saying?

“… you told me you would return from Delhi today. But you were here three days back. Ashish told me he saw you at the Guzzlers’ Inn. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?”

Oh Rahul, Rahul. How does it matter now? It was so long ago, one week back. How do I remember what I said, why I said it? God knows what mood I was in? Or maybe I can remember if I try. But not now, not now. Not now, when I’m in this mood of longing, of love.

I’m sorry Rahul, I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember! I remember. It was that night we had dinner at KFC when I asked… but… you said that…”

Please Rahul, please. Don’t quibble. Not now. Can’t you see the fallen white and pink bougainvillaea flowers fluttering round and round on the ground, in this heady wind? Can’t you feel it? Can’t you smell that it is going to rain?

“It doesn’t matter now, Rahul.”

“It does matter. It hurts me. I don’t know why you treat me so. You know how I feel about you. How much I love you…”

That’s better. But not in that whining voice. Why do you need words, so many words? Just look up and see the darkening pregnant rainclouds. There! A drop fell on my foot just now. In a little while, you can smell the fresh upturned muddy earth. You don’t have to talk. If you love me, you will come here to me.

“…I live and die for you, Ruchi. You are the only person I love. I’ll do anything for you. I’m crazy about you. Why don’t you love me? Please Ruchi, say you love me…”

How banal can you get! Don’t whine, don’t plead, don’t beg, and don’t talk. Come. I want to feel your breath on my cheeks, on my nape, not your panting over a telephone line. I cannot transmit my love through a strand of copper wires.

“Say something, Ruchi. I want to talk to you. Can I come over and see you?”

Finally. She leant her head against the doorjamb looking with content at the patch of ground at her feet that began to darken rapidly as bigger, fatter drops smacked the earth with a mini-explosion. How long would he take to come here? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?

“Oh, no. It’s raining. Of all the… I hope it stops soon. I’ll come over as soon as it stops.”

Ruchi gave a jerk. She couldn’t believe her ears. Stop the rain? For God’s sake, why does he want the rain to stop?

“…never know when these rains end, once they start. If it takes long, I’ll come later in the evening or tomorrow…”

Later? Tomorrow? When was tomorrow? Tomorrow she wouldn’t feel this way. NOW. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and she knew it wasn’t because of the rain. She was faintly aware of a squeaking in her ears, Rahul’s voice from somewhere far, far away. He was still talking. Hadn’t he finished yet?

“…tomorrow… meet tomorrow…”

Ruchi looked back at the TV. Prachi was in exactly the same posture as before, her eyes glued to the screen.

“No, not tomorrow,” Ruchi said. What did she find so interesting there? Aamir was chasing Juhi among eucalyptus trees or was it Juhi chasing Aamir… hard to say. Did Prachi find love on the TV screen as enchanting as the love she herself longed for in her mind?

“Why not tomorrow?”

She thought hard of something to shut him up.

“I’m not well. I’ve some problems.”

“What problems?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you. Why don’t you understand? Some problems girls have.”

“Oh.”

Ruchi smiled sadly. It always worked. Now he would act the chivalrous gentleman.

“Yes, I understand. I’m sorry. I’ll meet you later, when you are… are OK. Take care. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Yes, perhaps love in two (or lesser) dimensions was better than that in three, provided the missing dimension was reality. Ruchi looked out again. It was raining steadily now.

“Hey Ruchi,” yelled Prachi from inside. “Come here fast. You are missing the best scene in the movie.”